Listening

Over twenty years ago, while working with a singing group, I met a man who I thought was an almost perfect match for me. Through the years we have remained friends, and at times lost touch entirely until our paths crossed again, randomly and briefly. We continued to rehearse and perform together for several years. He became a close friend to my husband; later he cared for my husband during his final months.

Then we lost touch again, our lives moving in different directions. Our lives intersected again over a year ago.

Because he spends his days and nights caring for special needs men, his chance for real, meaningful conversation is minimal, so when we do chat, it’s mostly him talking–making up for days or weeks of no-one listening. I was convinced that he didn’t ever hear what I had to say. When this lovely flower arrangement arrived unexpectedly, from him, I realized that even though he seems to be the one doing most of the talking, he is listening. Listening to my one-word responses, the fear and sadness in my voice, and all the words that I can’t express.